Cycling Australia pt 3: Looked after in Southern Australia

I’d left the Nullabor and Eyre Peninsula behind and finally rejoined civilisation in the city of Port Augusta. After shopping for supplies (and treats, after the long, barren stint) I made my way out of town and set about the climb to Quorn, on the edge of the Flinder’s range. It wasn’t exactly on the way, but two weeks since my last night indoors or with company meant the invitation from a warmshowers’ host was too good to pass up!

The road wound up and around, following an old steam rail track, dark clouds loomed over the mountains, the first interruption to the flat horizon in the last 2,000km. The road led me underneath an old railway bridge as the unmistakable sound of a steam engine whistling chirped out into the valley. As I emerged on the other side of the bridge the inevitable happened and the heavens opened. With 30km of undulating climb left I threw on my waterproofs and hunkered down for the gruelling  afternoon. Soon after I was cheered up by a text from my WS host, Paul “Roast dinner in the oven, see you soon”

After a wet and windy hour and a half, with the clouds and rain obscuring any chance of a mountain view, I made it up another rise before slowing to a halt. Puncture! Stopping in the rain it was cold. I spotted a farmhouse restaurant a little way off the road. Rolling my bike down the drive I said hello to the owner and asked if he had a shed for me fix the puncture out of the rain.

“I can drive you up to Quorn if you like” the friendly farmer responded, “just taking some sheep up that way anyway”. I checked my watch, already 5 and nearly dark with another 10km of climbing. WIth thoughts of a delicious roast dinner cooking in the oven i accepted the lift and threw my bike in the back of his pickup. “I’ll come back tomorrow and cycle the bit I missed, no cheating!”.

In the pouring rain we drove up into one of his fields, with his 4×4 slipping and swerving in the mud struggling for traction. In the wet conditions he couldn’t get close enough to the shed, so we had to carry the two butchered sheep and threw them on the back with my bike, nice!

I arrived to a big welcoming handshake. “Get your stuff in here, jump in the hot shower and dinner will be ready in 10 minutes”. Paul was a outdoor guide in the Flinders range National Park and as a keen cycle tourer had completed his own cross Australia expedition. We spent the evening chatting over wine and food before I collapsed, exhausted, to bed. My first night indoors in over two weeks, followed by a very relaxed rest day – other than the 20km round trip on the bike to cycle the missed section from the night before!

I set off the following day, refreshed and reinvigorated, eager to complete the leg to Adelaide, the next major milestone. I figured once I got to Adelaide the hard bit was done and I’d have broken the back of the Australian leg. Having clocked up nearly 4,000km so far I was wondering if Australia would ever end.

My route took me through the rolling hills of the Clare Valley. Stopping in small towns reminiscent of sets from Wild West movies – just missing the tumbleweeds rolling by. Evening approached and after a leisurely stop in the village of Melrose, the mountain biking mecca of the region, I decided to push on to the town of Laura.

Unexpected hills slowed me again and I barely made it to the outskirts before wanting to get off the road. There was a campsite marked 5km down a side road, but it seemed an unnecessary diversion. I was somewhat over “stealth camping” after my previous 2 weeks alone on the desert so I turned down a small road onto a residential street. Seeing an old man tending to his garden I shouted over, asking if there was a place nearby to set up my tent.

“What about right here?” he replied, pointing to his own lawn. “Great!”. Before I could set up my tent he’d had another idea and offered a small hut connected to his house. With water, electricity and a mattress it was much better than bothering with my tent.

In the morning the elderly couple came out to greet me with some fruit for the road. We chatted for a while before I was on my way. Eventually I made it to the town of Clare, where I called my next warmshowers’ hosts Louise and Kerstin. Following Kerstin’s instructions I made my way down a secluded rail trail and headed to the village of Watervale. Finding the right address I let myself in to the beautiful home and was greeted by a big greyhound! Not the best guarddog he soon lost interest in me and went back to his bed while I found myself the shower and waited for Kerstin and Louise to return home from work.

Kerstin was from Switzerland  and Louise an aussie, they had cycled toured around America together and we spent a relaxed evening sharing stories from our trips over a delicious kangaroo Bolognese accompanied by wines from the Clare valley.

Next stop was Adelaide. After an uneventful ride I arrived to the city around 5 and gave myself a brief cycle tour in the fading afternoon sun. My cycling buddy from Iran, Xavier, had put me in contact with his school-exchange friend, Eleanor and  her family who lived in the south of the city. “Philip Luddington, pleasure to meet you” I was greeted, with a firm handshake. “This is my son, Alistair Luddington. Eleanor is at Netball.”

Ushered in out of the cold I was shown my room, which would be home for the next few days. Delicious smells wafted from the kitchen as Eleanor’s mum was cooking. “I hope you like curry!”

Over the next couple of days I explored the city by bike, whilst the Eleanor and Alistair were at uni and Philip at work. I went to the market with El’s Mum, who gave me a tour of the city and treated me to a fruit smoothie, I think she was pleased to have someone to carry her shopping! In the evenings the family would be reunited and we’d chat over incredible roast dinners and cooking from El’s mum.

Their generosity and kindness was incredible, I’d been invited in to the family as an old friend despite just meeting. I’d tell stories of my trip and the crazy antics Xavier and I got up to in Iran, “That’s Xavier!” they’d laugh but was just as interested in hearing the stories of their days and family life . It was just what I needed after the lonely stretch on the road, a real boost to morale.

On the third day El’s parents were heading down to their holiday hut for the weekend and El and Al took me out for Vietnamese food. Hearing my weakness for ice-cream we came back via a great Gelato place in Glenelg. The night before I left El sweetly gave me a present of chocolate truffles “for the road”, elegantly gift wrapped. “I’m sure the gifts are meant to go the other way around” I said with a pang of guilt.

It was sad to leave, Adelaide seems a nice enough city but my time with the family is what would stick in my memory. “Next time you’re in Europe look me up!” and with a parting wave I was making my way up the big hill leading south from Adelaide.

The hills lead me into the McLaren vale, yet another famous wine region. It being the weekend there were wine festivals on through the towns and villages I passed. Everyone dressed up and basking in the pleasant winter sun. The hills slowed progress and by afternoon I was happy rolling along enjoying the scenery. At around 4pm I came across a group of caravans and campers staying on a green space just outside the village of Langhorne Creek. It was a nice free camp spot, with toilets and water, and a good chance for another night with company.

As I set up my camp I chatted to a few of the other campers, mostly Grey Nomads in their big campervans. As I was cooking a friendly man, Dave, came over and starting chatting to me about the bike trip and invited me to join him and his wife to eat. Once my giant bowl of pasta was ready I wandered over to Dave’s camper and knocked on the door. Two beaming smiles invited me in, wine was poured and conversation instantly lit up.

Dave and Marg had travelled overland a similar route to my trip back in the 70s and were full of interesting stories and tales of incredible travels. We swapped stories and made comparisons of travelling through Iran and India now to when they had. All in all it was a great night and they were fantastic people to meet. I stumbled back to my tent, after one too many wines (about two being my limit!), and slept well.

In the morning I got up late and was greeted by a group of grey nomads, who Dave and Marg had been chatting to. Loading up the bike they wished me well and I was on my way.

A strong south easterly blew all day in my face and I again fell short of where i wanted to get. At a hamlet called Policeman’s Point, on Lake Corrong, I discovered that the campsite here had long been shut down. The roadhouse owner suggested it was fine to camp on the old grounds but large “DO NOT TRESSPASS” signs put me off. I cycled off the highway through a new housing development before finding a small gate with a path leading into the bush. I followed the path for a few hundred metres before it emerged onto the lake front, uncovering a magnificent vista with the sun setting over the horizon. It was confusing that a place this beautiful could be completely empty, as I was only a short distance from t he highway. I shrugged my shoulders and set up my tent, the beech and sunset all to myself.

Waking early I continued my route south along the coast. I’d organised another couchsurfing host, but at only 80km down the road in the town of Kingston S.E I wondered if my progress was too slow. I plodded along into the continuing headwind, slowly making my way. I arrived to Kingston at around 3, but it wasn’t until a pickup stopped on the road outside of town that I realised i’d gone too far. “Are you looking for my place? I’m Jimmy!”

Jimmy lived on a farm 12km north of Kingston. Although I was a little worried about the pace I was getting down the coast I’d already arranged the couch so turned around and cycled the 12km back up the highway and 2km dirt road out to the farm. “So you only want to stay one night then? We better go up to the pasture now then!” Jimmy said, after I rolled into the farm after my detour. Before I’d stepped in the door we jumped into Jimmy’s pickup with his dogs and bounced along another dirt road to the top of the farm.

“Sounds like a fun trip eh. You know I’m planning…. ***whstttttt*** GET ROUND! GET ROUND!…” Jimmy yelled at his herd dog as we were trying to round the cattle across the field. “a trip to Europe with ma daughter…. GET BY!!!!!.. Fecking dog!! Still trying to train him you see.” With a mixture of skilled 4×4 driving and whistling out the window Jimmy somehow managed to herd maybe 50 cattle through a small gate and into the next field. “Job done! Lets go get some food!”

Back at the ranch, Jimmy was also hosting a German couple who’d cooked up a hearty curry, perfect after the long day’s ride. Jimmy cracked some beers open and we chatted into the evening. Jimmy takes a lot of couchsurfers on to the farm and also puts travellers up looking for farm work to extend their working holiday visas. It was a nice set up where he got to surround himself with interesting people.

In the morning I groggily woke up, even just 2-3 beers was enough to floor me in my current cycle-state, “I need some help to load up some grain” Jimmy asked, “We’ll do breakfast later, lazy Germans are still asleep!” I looked at the clock on the wall, It wasn’t even 7.

I sleepily jumped in the pickup and we trundled across the farm again, stopping at a shed full of  grain. Jimmy jumped in some kind of forklift-tractor and drove toward me. “Just hook the bags on to the forks, easy as that!” He’d then drive the bags over to the pickup, which I’d climb up and unhook at the top. It was quite fun helping out with the random farm chores. Jimmy explained a lot of the people who came through to get their farm work visa extension were difficult to work with as many didn’t speak english well enough, but having another competent pair of hands on the farm was worth paying their keep just to help out with simple jobs that were a pain to do alone.

We got back to the farmhouse and Jimmy cooked up some eggs for breakfast. “Shame ya can’t stay longer.” I gave Jimmy some tips for his Euro-adventure and got ready to leave. “Do ya want a lift back to Kingston, mate?”. “Well, I did already cycle that section last night…” I reasoned, “Not Cheating!” We hauled the bike onto the pickup we’d loaded the grain on and drove into town. I helped unload the grain at the silo and then with another sad goodbye to yet another new friend I got on my way.

I again left the main highway, favouring the coast road and got to the beachside town of Robe for lunch. After a quick stop I continued down the coast. The wind just didn’t give up and slowed me in the afternoon, causing me to arrive to the town of Beechport after dark. I checked the first campsite but scoffed at the $24 they wanted. Crossing the town I tried the other site in town and after a quick chat negotiated down to $12 for the night. It was off season and there were only 2 campervans staying in the park, with a chance to grab a shower, cook in a kitchen and free wifi it seemed like a good enough deal. As I was setting up my tent it began to rain and did so all night, the wind blew so hard in the morning however that by breakfast everything had dried out.

It rained on and off all day as I made my way to Mt. Gambier. Just south of the town I’d arranged a host with another Couchsurfer, Dave. Dave was a photographer living with his folks and again I was treated to a gorgeous family cooked dinner. It was a lovely evening and I decided to accept an invitation of a second night and take an overdue rest day.

The next day Dave showed me around the sights of Mt Gambier, before an afternoon resting in front of the TV eating snacks – bliss! That evening Dave’s mum cooked up a traditional Aussie roast, complete with pumpkin and all the trimmings. After dinner we went out to a famous spot in town, the Umpherson sink hole. A giant pit in the ground that, upon Dave’s photographers trick of sprinkling some apples around was full of possums. In the morning Dave’s mum gave me some snacks for the road and with a smile handed me some cash. “For next time its rainy, have a night in a hostel”.

Leaving Mt Gambier I headed again for the coast. It was mid winter and at the south most point of Australia the days were short and after another day into the wind I made it 110km to Portland. I’d gone into town to stock up on supplies, but realised it was too dark to continue and with dark clouds on the horizon i remembered Dave’s mum’s cash and rather than a soggy search out of the city I decided to find a camp site in town.

As I started to pitch my tent there was a crack of thunder and it stared heavily raining. As I was struggling with the tent in the wind I heard a shout form behind me. “Hey there, if you want to get out of the rain come and join us in our cabin!” shouted the man, sheltering under the hood of his raincoat. I set up my tent and ran through the rain to the cabin. Ray was a keen cyclist and in Portland for a family meet up. I was invited in and introduced to the family, kids running around all over the place. “Here have some pizza” offered Ray. I chatted to the family whilst scoffing down their takeaway leftovers. They were heading out but we agreed to meet again in the morning.

It was a wet night but my tent held firm and kept me dry. When packing up Ray came to say good morning. “Here are some more leftovers we won’t eat this stuff” Ray gave me his address and contact details offering a place to crash if I made it to Balarat on my way to Melbourne. I waved a thank you and saw them on their way before getting back on the road myself. I was heading for the Great Ocean Road, a famous piece of road that impressively hugs the southern coastline of Victoria.

I wouldn’t reach the road that day as i continued to plod down the Princes highway, set back 5-10km from the coast it made for an unspectacular ride. I’d have to wait for the great ocean road for the views. I eventually got to the tourist fishing village of Port Fairy. It was 4pm and with an hour of sunlight left I was ready to call it a day, the town campsite wanting $30 for my to put my tent up put an end to that plan. “That’s more expensive than a hostel!”

I cycled out of town, without much of a plan. Once I’d made it through the outskirts of town the land opened up to plenty of opportunities to camp. I pulled down a side road, spotting a nice lawn to inspect for camping. If i’d looked closer I would have seen the flags, but it was a golf ball whooshing by that alerted me to the insuitablility of the apparent fairway site.

I carried on along the road before reaching a small village, I looked around but didn’t see anyone out and about to ask. Beyond the village the countryside stretched into farmland, all fenced off with crops or cattle grazing in the fields. I stood at the side of the road and considered my options. In the fading light I turned back to the village and decided to knock on a door and ask for a place to put up my tent. First door was unsucessful “Sorry my parents aren’t home yet” a uni student aged girl answered. “Try the big white house down the road, they are friends and will probably help out.”

I tried the next house along the road and was answered through a bolted door by an elderly man speaking with a voice box machine. “I don’t think I will” he croaked. “Fair enough” I thought, “I’ll try one more”.

Cycling back along the road I spotted the big white house opposite the antiques shop the girl had told me about. “Hi there….”, I started nervously wondering what I was going to say next. “I’m cycling across Australia and was looking for a place to pitch my tent tonight”. Bill was a friendly guy and greeted me with a smile but needed a little more convincing “There’s a campsite 5km back towards Port Fairy I think”. I continued the routine I’d thought through before approaching “I tried there but it’s a little….out of my price range I’m afraid. I usually camp in the bush but I noticed it’s mainly farmland ahead and didn’t want to trespass on the land”.

I don’t like to play too many games or take advantage of people’s good nature. People are generally nice and willing to help, but giving people the opportunity I’ve found results much better than directly asking. “Well, we’ve got a big lawn around the back. Plenty of space for a tent”. “That would be perfect” I said, with relief.

Bill showed me round back, “There’s a shower and toilet here in the garage that you can use”. This had worked out nicely I thought. I set up my tent and had a nice hot shower. As I was about to start cooking Bill came out for a chat “Why don’t you come in and say hello to the family.”

Bill lived with his wife and two daughters, who were studying at the local uni. We chatted away and I told stories of my trip and the different countries i’d travelled through. Bill offered me a beer . “Do you want some food too, plenty to go around!” I was still amazed and taken-aback by the prospect of people being friendly enough to invite people off the street, like me, into their homes and be so hospitable.

Having spent so much time couchsurfing throughout my trip I was comfortable being hosted, but this was somehow different, it seemed everywhere I’d gone over the last few weeks I’d struck up strong personal connections and ended up on the receiving end of remarkable kindness and generosity. Couchsurfing to me had always been about the cultural exchange and meeting new people to me and my rule for being hosted in any situation was always the same: The host has to get a positive experience out of this too; its not just about free accommodation and food! In the past I would often cook food or take my hosts for drinks, give something back, but at this stage of the trip I was living on a shoestring and had nothing but my stories and company to offer. Fortunately people seemed to have a genuine interest in my trip, allowing me to relax and enjoy the company of the people I met.

After another pleasant evening I returned to my tent happy and content.”Make sure to pop in for breakfast before you go in the morning James, Goodnight”